Family Traditions
by lgordon
Summary: After reading Mr Darcy's letter, Elizabeth acts on impulse and runs after him to ask a question regarding something she read in his letter. Complete
1. chapter 1

Summary: After reading Mr Darcy's letter, Elizabeth acts on impulse and runs after him to ask a question regarding something she read in his letter. One-shot

Genre: Humour, romance.

Characters: Mr Darcy, Elizabeth

Rating: K

Chapters:1

Status: Complete

I had just finished Mr Darcy's letter, and was still thinking over its contents.

There was no doubt that what he had said was the truth; nobody but a madman would make up a story like that about his past. This letter in my hand contained so many answers, and yet provoked so many questions.

In a rash, impulsive act, I turned back and flung open the gate that lead to the grounds of Rosings, and ran in hopes of finding that confusing gentleman from Derbyshire who had given me this equally confusing letter.

I did not have to run very far, for Mr Darcy was pacing about a clearing in the densely grown trees of the Rosings Park plantation, just out of sight from the gates. He was clearly determined to calm his agitated self down before facing his formidable aunt again.

So agitated was he in fact, that he didn't realise my presence for a while, and I had a moment to catch my breath.

But that was only a moment.

He suddenly became aware of my presence, and looked as if he was seeing a ghost. I had not realised earlier, but he looked rather disheveled and rugged this morning. He still wore his clothes from yesterday, his large greatcoat looking almost unrecognisable when not impeccably washed and pressed as always. He had a dark stubble which made his extreme masculinity even more pronounced than usual.

I had but a moment to observe all this, as he strode to me in three large steps. Never before had his tall gait and presence been more keen.

Overwhelmed by his proximity and still fatigued from my mad dash, I blurted out, "Why?"

He looked puzzled, and well he should. Here I was, the woman who had shamelessly refused and berated him not even one day ago, standing before him, asking the vaguest question that could be asked under our current circumstances.

"My apologies madam, but I don't have the pleasure of understanding you."

Oh, that was Fitzwilliam Darcy all right! Always the most polite example of a gentleman, even when suddenly confronted with unexpected events. And that brought me back to my present question.

"Why were you named after your mother's maiden name?" I blurted out.

It was easy to see that this was the last inquiry he was expecting to hear from me. Strangely enough, of all those questions I had wanted to ask on first reading his letter, this was the one which was first on my mind.

Because he was so unprepared for my question, it took a moment for him to hide his confusion. As soon as he had composed himself, he answered in the most nonchalant tone he could muster, "We Darcy's have a family tradition of naming the firstborn son after his mother's maiden name."

That seemed like an adequate answer, but strangely enough, something deep inside prompted me to continue this topic of discussion.

"But wasn't your father's name George?"

Mr Darcy smiled at that, whether because of the silliness of my question, my remembering his father's name or even the remembrence of that deceased parent himself, I do not know.

"Unfortunately, that tradition skipped a generation with my father." he gave a slight chuckle and continued, "It wouldn't do to have the heir to Pemberley named Gotobed, now would it?"

I couldn't contain my mirth at that, and we both burst out laughing. It sounded strange and melodious in the usually silent, solemn atmosphere of Rosings.

After our initial mirth had died down and the awkwardness of our situation was realised, I added in a more solemn, thoughtful tone,

"Naming your child De Bourgh would not be very desirable. I guess the tradition would have to skip another generation."

Darcy's countenance suffered an immediate change for the worse. He looked agitated and started pacing again.

"I do not know where you heard of that imaginary betrothal between myself and my cousin Anne, but please remember that it is only a figment of my aunt's crazy imagination, and will never take place. Ah, what a foolish cad you must have thought me for proposing to you, and in such an abominable way, while believing me to be attached elsewhere. That only added to-"

But before he could continue his self degrading monologue, I cut him off short by observing, "Of course, the name Bennet would sound rather nice. Yes, I can picture that. Bennet Anthony Darcy. I've always liked the middle name Anthony."

Fitzwilliam Darcy, newfound love of my life, was stuck speechless at that. He looked so adorable in his disheveled state, mouth slightly agape, his expressive eyes staring wide and disbelievingly at me.

I smiled and decided to end his agony of uncertainty. So I covered the distance left between us and stood on my tiptoes so that our foreheads and noses nearly touched.

"You Darcy's aren't the only ones with family traditions. For many generations the Bennet women have given their own proposals to their fiancées, usually after, but occasionally before their gentleman's proposal."

I stood back and knelt down on one knee before him. "As I am not one for breaking a tradition as this, here we go." I cleared my throat and went on,

"For minutes I have struggled, it will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently, and quite recently, I have come to admire and love you."

My smile turned mischievous as I continued, "I will say no more, in fear that I will mess it up like someone I know. My letter writing skills are rather bad, and so I might not be able to change your mind should you refuse after that. So without further ado, I ask you, Fitzwilliam Darcy, to make me the happiest woman in England and accept my hand in marriage."

By this time, my Fitzwilliam was nearly bursting with joy, with the most brilliant smile I had ever seen gracing anyone's features.

Without thinking, he fell down on his knees in front of me, nearly knocking me over in his loving embrace. I laughed as I saw how shocked he was at his own forward actions.

To assure him of my approval, I dragged him down to lay on the ground beside me, and pinned him in place with my arms.

Right then and there, we had a first kiss that neither of us shall easily forget.

After our heated first kiss and another few additional ones, he helped me up and we started strolling around the grounds of Rosings, perfectly content. Anyone who could have seen us then would never have guessed the course of our earlier activities, except for our disarrayed clothing, which I think might have given it away.

But luckily nobody saw us, and we had a while to enjoy each others company.

After a while, my fiancé enquired, "So when did you first realise that you loved me?"

I thought for a moment and then answered, "I believe it was while we were laughing together at your grandmother's ridiculous maiden name. The way we laughed together in harmony, made me realise that we would also be able to live happily and in harmony with each other for the rest of our lives.

"After that it was only a case of eliminating the possible hurdle of your engagement to Miss de Bourgh. It was smooth sailing from there."

The next day saw us both on our way to Hertfordshire for my father's consent.

Two months later saw Mr and Mrs Fitzwilliam Darcy happily on our wedding trip.

A month after that saw us attending Jane and Miss de Bourgh's double wedding to Mr Bingley and Col. Fitzwilliam respectively.

Now, exactly two years after that fateful day at Rosings, I am here at our wonderful home, with little Bennet Anthony Darcy sound asleep in the Pemberley nursery, and my husband in his study.

But I am not sitting alone from where I am writing here in Fitzwilliam and my shared chambers.

We have been thinking that our dearest Bennet would grow quite lonely without a playmate. Luckily, Fitzwilliam and I have been working very hard in trying to correct that.I have been writing this down while trying to come up with a way to tell my dearest husband that our attempts have not been in vain.

I wonder if the Darcy's have any family traditions regarding the naming of a second child...

 _A/N: Thank you so much for reading my very first fanfiction! I would like to hear what you guys think and get some feedback._

A _very special thanks to Wade H for beta reading, and inspiring this fanfiction. If you like PP fanfiction, go check his stories out, he's an awesome writer!_

Wade _, thanks again. I couldn't have done it without you._


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2**

I had just finished _Mrs Darcy's_ letter, and was still thinking over its contents.

I was rather shocked to have my steward deliver me a letter from my wife while I was working in my private study. At first I panicked, _is there something wrong with her?_ But that thought was quickly banished from my mind. If that was the case, she would have sent a servant or at least a short note, and this looked like a rather thick letter.

When I opened it, I was utterly astonished to read that it told the story of the day at Rosings when she proposed. We had talked about that day before, but it was still enjoyable to read it all from her point of view. I laughed once again at the recollection of all the silly things we had said and done.

And then I came to the last sentence, to the part -

I slowly looked up from the letter in utter amazement. The sight that met my eyes was my dearest Elizabeth sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, unwaveringly staring at me. My minx of a wife had snuck into the study while I was absorbed in her letter. She wore the same impish, mischievous smile she had while proposing to me that day. Oh, how could I resist that smile?

 _I had but a moment to observe all this_ , as I stood up from behind my desk and strode to her in three large steps. Never before had her petite form and natural beauty been more keen. Without a word from either of us, I sat down next to her. I leaned forward to whisper in my wife's ear, "Yes".

When I pulled back, the smug expression in her face had given way to confusion. I smiled triumphantly, for it was not often that I had the pleasure of confusing my intelligent, witty partner in wedlock."What is the matter my love?" I asked with a smirk of my own, "Do you not like to be given _the vaguest answer that could be given under our current circumstances?_ "

That brought a smile back to her face, and she smilingly said, "Touché, sir".

"Yes, we do have a family tradition regarding the second child's name," I explained. "I am surprised that you have not yet puzzled it out for yourself. For many generations the second eldest Darcy child is given a name which combines the parent's names. You haven't noticed that Georgiana's name is a combination of George and Anne?" Lizzy looked thoughtful when she gave her answer, "Yes I have noticed that. But I only thought, and rather hoped, that this was only a whim of your parents. It seems we have a bit of a problem."

"Yes, I have thought on the subject before, and we are in quite a predicament. Just imagine! Fitzabeth Darcy" I said with a laugh.

"Elizabill" my wife suggested jokingly.

"Willabeth"

"Bethiam"

"Fitzel"

"Liziam"

We both burst out laughing, quite like that memorable day at Rosings.

"Poor child!" Elizabeth exclaimed, reverently passing her hand over her abdomen. Through all of our teasing the reality that she was once more carrying our child, had not yet reached me. A huge grin spread over my face and I believe at that moment I made a striking resemblance to my friend Bingley.

"So we are to have another little one!" I joyfully said as I embraced my wife.

She laughed at me, "Do you only realise that now, Fitzwiliam?" I smiled sheepishly at her. "I confess, everything has happened so quickly since I have finished your letter, the reality is still sinking in. Luckily we still have some months to get used to the thought, and choose a name."

"I think I can help you on that score. The Bennets also have a family tradition for the second born's name. For many generations we second children have been named after great monarchs. This tradition usually only follows the male Bennet line, but considering I do not have a brother, I see no reason that we cannot carry on with this tradition, if only for one more generation."

And so, seven months later I was holding sweet little James John Darcy in my arms, the happiest father in all the world. But my wife and I had long ago agreed that we would not let a Darcy tradition slip away as easily as that.

 **Two decades later**

 _"Come, Darcy. I must have you dance!"_

Bennet Anthony Darcy looked at his cousin Bingley in great annoyance. Although he had inherited his mother's natural good humour, he also had his father's abhorrence for large society gatherings.

"I know how you love to dance, and I daresay there are an abundance of pretty ladies you could choose from," Charles Bingley Jr. prompted his cousin with the same good humoured stubbornness of his father and namesake.

Bennet only scoffed and replied, "You know that I only enjoy dancing when society is not planning my wedding while I'm dancing the first set with a lady. Mothers are so eager to have their daughters agreeably settled. Since I came out into society I understand my father's strange behaviour in public and my grandfather's love of book rooms much better."

"Well let me at least introduce you to a few young ladies so that you could have some stimulating conversation," Jr suggested. "I hear that everyone is talking about some new book from that author friend of yours, what was his name again?"

"Dickens; Charles Dickens. I'm surprised you cannot even remember someone who's name you share."

"Don't raise your eyebrow at me cousin; you look just like your mother when you do that".

Bennet smirked and replied, "I take that as a great compliment, thank you Jr."

"Now come on or I'll tell that selfsame mother that you spent the whole evening sulking in a corner." Bingley said while dragging his friend out into the room. His cousin made a final futile attempt, "Darcys do not sulk".

"That's what you all say," he replied with a roll of the eyes. They approached a group of young women. "Ladies, allow me to introduce my cousin, Mr Bennet Darcy of Pemberley in Derbyshire. Darcy, I'm delighted to introduce you to Lady Merida Carlisle," said Bingley pointing to the nearest girl.

 _'No, Carlisle Darcy would not sound pleasant. And the second child? Berida? This one won't do.'_ _Darcy thought._

Moving through the group Charles Jr introduced everyone to Bennet who, in turn mentally assessed the name of every girl as he had done with Lady Carlisle.

 _'Dankworth Darcy? Sorry Miss, I'll have to let you pass. Hough Darcy. Not too bad, but Emmenie? I shall not even attempt to make a name combination there.'_ _His thoughts were vivid and impatient._

And so it continued until Bingley came to the last pair of ladies. "And finally we have the lovely Miss Lewis, and her sister Miss Mary Lewis"

 _Ah! Lewis would make quite a lovely name. But Mary wouldn't work, I would continually think of my aunt. What could the other's Christian name be? Well, the eldest is_ _remark_ _a_ _bly beau_ _t_ _iful_ _and I might gather her name from a conversation while we dance. Besides, I don't spot any_ _matchmaking mama's_ _nearby._

"Miss Lewis," he spoke up for the first time "Would you allow me the honour of the next dance?" The lady seemed pleased, and graciously accepted his offer. As they were engaged in the dance, Bennet put some of the conversational skills his mother had taught him, to good use. "If you do not mind my asking Madam, but what is your given name?"

She gave him a sideways glance and replied, "And what if I _do_ mind, Sir."

He was taken quite aback by this answer, and tried to explain best he could, "Oh see, it is only a little trifling fancy of mine. I like to know the given names of all the ladies I am acquainted with."

"You did not inquire about Miss Woodhouse's name, Sir" she said with a mischievous grin.

 _You are quite_ _observ_ _a_ _nt_ _, aren't you? Well, if only you imagined how strange 'Woodhouse Darcy heir to Pemberley' would sound, you would understand my reasons!_

"I'm afraid I cannot give a reason for that, Miss Lewis. I apologise, for _I would by no means suspend any pleasure of yours._ " She only laughed merrily and said, "Oh, it is no problem Mr Darcy, for I never allow my pleasure to depend on people I don't know." And then she added, almost as an afterthought, "Except maybe that author Mr Dickens."

"You read Charles Dickens' works?" Bennet asked in surprise. "Oh yes!" The lady exclaimed. "He is one of my favourite novelists, do you enjoy his stories?"

His eyes lit up in delight, for there were few things that exited him more than modern literature. "As a matter of fact, I am a great friend of his. We met in London several years ago."

And so their dance passed quickly in animated conversation. By the end of the night, young Darcy even managed to find out the lady's name, through a secondary source, of course. _Anita Lewis_. It was perfect, and Bennet Anthony Darcy returned home in high spirits.

 **Five years, nine months and seven days later**

Fitzwilliam and Elizabeth Darcy stood in the Pemberley nursery, quietly watching their youngest grandchild sleeping in the cradle. Behind them played the infant's older brother, Lewis.

"Only one week old and she has already stolen my heart." the elder Mr Darcy whispered into his wife's ear while thoughtfully fingering her greying hair. She smiled up at her beloved husband and whispered back, "Indeed she is quite the little angel. But I hope you shall keep a piece of your heart for our future grandchildren. Rest assured, I shall pester all our children until we have at least a dozen little ones running around Pemberley." The years had never succeeded in robbing her of her mischievous and teasing nature, nor her habitual raise of the eyebrow.

"Well, my love," her husband replied with a soft chuckle as to not awake the sleeping baby, " Twelve grandchildren do not seem like such an impossible task when you consider that we have six children to fulfil the duty."

"Yes, Fitzwilliam I'm aware of that. We had quite run out of family traditions for names by the time we got to little Marguerite," she said thinking of their fourth child.

At that moment James, or _JJ_ as his mother jokingly liked to call him, poked his head into the room. "Mother, Father; the carriages are ready to take us to the church. You'll have to leave Lewis and Benita in the hands of the nursemaids. You wouldn't want to miss your youngest child's wedding, now would you?"

 **The End**


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